


The Care and Nurturing of Others

by saekokato



Category: Bandom: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-02
Updated: 2010-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekokato/pseuds/saekokato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian lets Bob take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Care and Nurturing of Others

The bunks are always dimly lit, whether it's noon or midnight. Considering no one on tour keeps a schedule that even remotely follows the sun, the dim lighting is expressly designed to help people rest no matter what the time is. Other than making sleep a little less elusive, the lighting also gives way to the illusion of quiet.

And, unless someone was feeling particularly assholish, people used their indoor voices in the bunk area. Common decency said that it was because there was always someone sleeping – the band, off-duty support staff, driver – but mostly it was because the light tricked the mind.

Brian didn't care one way or the other for why the bunk area was (usually) quiet. He just appreciated that it was the one spot on tour where a person with a headache bordering on a migraine could hide out while waiting for whatever medicine might kick in to kick in.

That headache (he refused to call it a migraine, lest he ended up throwing up everything he'd ever ingested ever) was one of the reasons for why Brian was hiding out in Bob's bunk. Most of the rest of them dealt with avoiding the rest of the tour for some breathing room. Plus, Brian hiding out in Bob's bunk always annoyed Bob. So few things genuinely annoyed Bob like having a not expressly invited person in his bunk did.

"One of these days, I'm going to snap and kill you when I find you here, Schechter," Bob said when he pulled back the curtain. He's glaring but even through the haze of pain, Brian could tell it's barely half-hearted.

Brian snorted his response. Then he had to resist the urge to grab his skull when his brain forcefully reminded him that it's already in crippling pain and deliberately adding to it was Brian's least spectacular plan ever.

When he caught his breath again, he told Bob, "I'd be more than willing to let you, Bryar. But if you're not going to follow through now, would you mind closing the curtain? The light's killing me."

Brian could practically hear Bob raise his eyebrow. "Migraine?"

Brian didn't bother to respond to that, but he risked movement to flip Bob off when he asked if Brian had bothered to take his meds. Like Brian really wanted to be hiding in a stuffy, vaguely smelly (probably more because Gerard's bunk was right below Bob's than anything Bob had or hadn't done) quasi-coffin without the promise that blessed relief would eventually kick in.

"You're an idiot, Schechter," Bob sighed.

Brian didn't get the chance to reply before Bob tugged the curtain closed and walked away again. Not that Brian was really going to argue with him. Because, one, that was too much effort and, two, it wasn't like Brian could disagree. He was an idiot: he didn't take his meds like he was supposed to, he didn't eat or drink enough or do either on anything resembling a normal schedule, and now he was paying for it.

Brian had reached a quasi-sleep state where he could feel the throb-throb-throb of pain pounding through his sinuses but wasn't particularly paying all that much attention to it when Bob came back. Brian had no idea how much time had passed, and he jumped a little when the curtain opened again. He'd honestly thought Bob had left to let him not-sleep his way through the pain.

The jerky movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through his skull, and Brian barely clenched down on the moan that would have added to both the pain and the rolling nausea.

"Move over, Schechter," Bob said. He pushed at Brian's shoulder, gentle enough not to add to the agony but forceful enough that Brian knew there would be hell to pay if he didn't listen. "Come on. We don't have all day."

Brian rolled over so that he was facing the wall. Both because Bob always carried through on his threats and because the light, though dim, really fucking hurt.

Bob climbed up behind Brian, tugging the curtain closed behind him with the long ease of practice. The bunk was just a smidgeon too small for the both of them, not that either of them had ever let that be an issue, so Bob ended up spooned right against Brian's back.

"Hey, lift your head a sec," Bob said. He slid his arm underneath Brian's head when Brian did as asked, and Brian didn't really have the energy to complain about it. Besides, Bob's other arm was wrapped over his side and was currently rubbing soothing circles on Brian's stomach, and Bob's knees were tucked up behind Brian's. It's like Bob is cradling Brian with his entire body and Brian would make some sort of smart-ass remark, but it honestly felt awesome.

The best part, though, was the cold, damp washcloth that Bob draped over Brian's forehead and eyes. Brian did moan at the relief the cooling sensation brought as it numbed through the worst of the pain. Brian pressed the washcloth more firmly against his face. Bob's hand was pressed against Brian's to keep it and the washcloth from falling away.

"Go to sleep, Bri," Bob said quietly. His lips pressed behind Brian's ear, and he had to clamp down on a shudder, if only because that'd make him even more nauseous than he already was.

"You have more important places to be, Bryar," Brian said. But he didn't try to move and neither did Bob.

"The guys and I made a few decisions: they're handling the interview and I'm handling you," Bob said. "Stop worrying and go to sleep. I won't let you miss the show."

 _I won't miss the show._ Brian could hear what Bob wasn't saying. Brian wasn't saying anything either. Between Bob's hand soothing out the nausea and the cold compress dulling out the pain, Brian could feel the meds kicking in and the sweet, blessed sleep lingering right behind it.


End file.
